Ay! and some woman’s tongue’s been going it,
Like a wag-at-the-wa’, in this steading, three hundred years,
Tick-tocking the same things over.

ELIZA:
Dare say, we’ll manage:
A decent lass--though something in her eye,
I couldn’t quite make out. Hardly Jim’s sort ...
But, who can ever tell why women marry?
And Jim ...

EZRA:
Takes after me: and wenches buzz
Round a handsome lad, as wasps about a bunghole.

ELIZA:
Though now they only see skin-deep, those eyes
Will search the marrow. Jim will have his hands full,
Unless she’s used to menfolk and their ways,
And past the minding. She’d the quietness
That’s a kind of pride, and yet, not haughty--held
Her head like a young blood-mare, that’s mettlesome
Without a touch of vice. She’ll gan her gait
Through this world, and the next. The bit in her teeth,
There’ll be no holding her, though Jim may tug
The snaffle, till he’s tewed. I’ve kenned that look
In women’s eyes, and mares’, though, with a difference.
And Jim--yet she seemed fond enough of Jim:
His daffing’s likely fresh to her, though his jokes
Are last week’s butter. Last week’s! For forty-year